


Pumpkin Spice Parley

by ThayerKerbasy



Series: Pour Some Sugar on Dean (In the Name of Love) [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Relationships, Canonverse Coffee Shop Not-AU, Demon Bela Talbot, Gen, Human Crowley (Supernatural), Implied/Referenced Abuse, POV Bela Talbot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 16:50:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21102764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThayerKerbasy/pseuds/ThayerKerbasy
Summary: Bela waited as long as she could, but half a year after her uneasy truce with the Winchesters she couldn't wait any longer.  She needed advice from her predecessor.





	Pumpkin Spice Parley

Not much had changed in the little town of Lebanon since Bela’s last visit. Near as she could tell, they’d repaired the café and gone right back to their normal lives, decorating the entire town with pumpkins and fake cobwebs as if they were all children. Only the slight sensation of wrongness hinted at more than superficial spookiness. If there was an unwarded building anywhere in town, it was either a mistake or, more likely, a trap. Fortunately, she was expected.

“Hello, sweetheart,” called Crowley from one of the tables outside the café. He didn’t bother to get up.

She stopped walking, crossing her arms over her chest. “I specifically chose this body to avoid being sweethearted. Are we here to talk business or aren’t we?”

Crowley shrugged. “Come, sit. I’ve saved some of my better confections to share.”

Sure enough, there was a plate of cookies in the middle of the table along with two large mugs. A quick scan of the area showed no visible devil’s traps and there was nothing she could think of that he could put in the food that might harm her. Given the half-empty mug and the traces of whipped cream on his upper lip, it appeared Crowley had started without her.

Closing the distance between them with brisk strides, Bela took the mug from in front of Crowley as she sat, scarcely pausing before taking a sip. Cinnamon and nutmeg brushed her tongue like a hazy memory of autumn. Like the sellout to humanity that he was, he’d gone native, filling their mugs with pumpkin spiced lattes.

While her mouth was full, he said, “Turns out, even though they can’t taste worth a damn, angels make excellent baristas.”

Bela slid both her mug and the full one across the table to Crowley. “Pumpkin spice is so ten years ago. The new trend is getting down to bloody business. I’ve held up my end of the bargain. The only demons going topside are on crossroads business, everyone else remains in Hell, marinating in the stench of pain and suffering. Your turn: how do I quash the rebellion fomented by the short-sighted black-eyed lackwits?”

Crowley plucked a cookie off the plate and ate it while maintaining eye contact with her. “It’s a shame you can’t experience real pleasure anymore. Without getting into the mushy stuff, it’s worth being human merely for these white chocolate and cranberry cookies.”

“I don’t give a damn about your bloody desserts, Crowley. If you don’t want some bloodthirsty warmonger leading Hell on a rampage because I’ve been assassinated, you need to step up your game. Devil you know, right? So, how the bloody Hell did you keep them in line?”

“I didn’t.” He shrugged and started breaking a second cookie into pieces. “I spent years trying to do what was best for Hell and there was always a contingent trying to have me offed.”

Not that she in any way forgave him for it, but Bela suddenly understood a little of why he’d locked her away. Faced with assassins on all sides, an intelligent demon with a vendetta like hers was an intimidating prospect. She rather enjoyed the thought of being considered a threat, but sitting on the other side of things was significantly less enjoyable. “So, what? You’re saying the job is thankless and I should resign myself to being murdered?”

Crowley sighed. “Look, they’re never going to love you or appreciate what you’ve done for them. They’re all bloody morons who would just as soon throw themselves at the hunters of the world until there are no demons left. Before I took the job, Hell was united under the banner of serving and freeing Lucifer. They want their god to worship and neither of us fit the bill, sweetheart.”

“I thought you wanted someone like me in charge of Hell. If you knew the job was impossible, why did you let me think I had a chance?”

“You were offering to police the fanatics. How could we say no?” Crowley dropped the crumbled bits of dessert and met her eyes. “Let’s just say I’ve learned a few things since I wore the non-existent crown. Your best bet is likely to give them useless tasks under the guise of eventually ‘rescuing’ Lucifer from the great beyond, and in the meantime, consolidate your power for the day they call you on it.”

“That…might just work. The crossroads demons are no trouble, so it need only convince the brainless meatheads. I’ll tell them I’m Lucifer’s loyal servant and that I need them to work on preparing Hell for Lucifer’s return. That ought to buy me some time while I eliminate the worst of the lot.” It would have been a good time to leave, but a thought occurred to her. “If you knew all this, why step down? You could retake Hell, especially with the handful of demons who remained loyal to you. What do you get out of walking away?”

He smiled and leaned forward. “A treasure beyond imagination. Love. Heard of it? It’s rare, you know, and I found it not once, but twice. I wouldn’t trade that for all the power in the world.”

“Love?” Bela was unprepared for the anger that surged through her. He’d locked her away so he could keep playing king of the fallen, only to walk away for the sake of _feelings_. She shook her head and pushed her chair away from the table. “You turned down the throne of Hell for _love? _I don’t know why, but I expected better of you, Crowley. What bloody good has love ever done?”

He’d had greatness in his grasp and he’d tossed it away like so much rubbish, all for sentimental human weakness. Bela had executed demons for far less, and he wasn’t even a demon anymore, only a soft human, hardly a challenge.

Besides the obvious benefit of commanding instant respect from the ignorant patriarchy, one thing men’s clothing was good for was concealment. Properly tailored suits had pockets, maneuverability, and ample space to hide an angel blade. For the hundredth time, she made a mental note to have her clothing tailored for function if she ever went back to a female meatsuit.

The blade in her sleeve was designed to drop into her hand at her command. It would have been simplicity itself to stab one pathetic old man and leave, trusting her position as ruler of Hell to keep her safe. The Winchester bothers wanted her in charge, enough to most likely get over the loss of their used up ex-demon mascot. Better her than some moron on an unholy crusade, after all.

Despite her usual caution and control, Crowley must have seen some hint of her thoughts, because he watched her think for only a moment before raising his right index finger. “Because we still want you on the throne, you get one warning, only one, before you get a demon-trapped bullet in that well-dressed meatsuit, and I assure you, they’re harder to dig out than you might imagine.”

Mostly out of a desire to see how serious the threat was, Bela cocked an eyebrow and donned a lazy little smile. “I don’t see a gun in your hand. What sort of gunslinger are you, that you could draw and fire before I could lunge and stab?”

“None at all,” replied Crowley with a similarly assumed smile, “but then again, I don’t have to be a gunslinger when I have half the town in my corner. When I said I found love, did you really think—”

She held up empty hands, both to demonstrate her lack of weapon and to cut off his cocky speech. “Save the monologue, old man, I remember your neighbourhood watch. Besides, I was merely checking that I wasn’t unprotected, on the off chance I was followed. I’m aware of which side my bread is buttered on. I kill you and even if I do get away, I won’t be able to show my face topside for fear of your goons. Isn’t that right?”

Crowley regarded her with a suspicious glare. “That was the deal, yes.”

“Right then, no harm done,” she said as she tried to spot Crowley’s meddlesome neighbours. “If you’ll do me the favour of having your loyal customers refrain from shooting me while I leave town, I would be eternally grateful.”

He made a sideways cutting motion with his hand, palm down over the table. It might have been her imagination, but Bela thought she saw movement from the roof of the café.

Smiling tightly, Crowley picked up his disgusting seasonal latte. “Provided you don’t do anything stupid, you’ll be safe from my people. I can’t say the same about yours. You may wish to consider who has treated you with respect and who has tried to do away with you before you unsheath that thing.”

“Oh Crowley,” said Bela as she stood and straightened her suit jacket, “always so thoughtful and not at all thinking of yourself. You want me to trust your ragtag band of misfits over my murderous demons? That’s a bold assumption, thinking I’d ever trust anyone. Trust kills, sweetheart.”

“How come you can say it and I can’t?” Crowley asked, as if he didn’t already know.

“You let me know if you ever figure that one out. I’ll send flowers to mark the occasion.” Yes, there was definitely someone on top of the café, though there was no way of knowing if there was anyone else. Knowing Crowley, that wasn’t his only safeguard. Bela put a little more effort into her smile. “Until then, I have demons to wrangle and paperwork to do away with, unless it’s the other way around. Toodles, dearie.”

Showing no sign of being rattled, Crowley raised his mug in her direction. “So long, Bela dear. Make good choices.”

Walking away from the table made all the nerves in her stolen meatsuit tingle with anticipation, the sensation intensifying with each step, waiting for a bullet to pin her in place until she could dig it out like an animal in a trap gnawing off a limb. If she still needed to breathe she’d have held her breath.

It was a welcome distraction when the original owner of her meatsuit began to flutter in the back of her mind. The disgusting old fool whimpered something about being not ready to die. As if he’d ever given any of his secretaries that much choice in what he did to them.

A breeze picked up, blowing fallen leaves down the street, dancing past her meatsuit’s expensive Italian loafers and towards the outskirts of the town where a crossroads demon waited to take her back to Hell. Bela tightened the bonds on her host and casually reminded him of the things she’d do to his genitals if he didn’t behave. The whimpering subsided, the fluttering giving way to terrified shivers.

Just the way she liked it.

Reaching the edge of town unscathed, Bela gave her loyal demon a nod of acknowledgement. “I got what I came for. Let’s go.”

She had fanatics to distract, traitors to dispatch, and a kingdom to run, all while plotting a way to make Crowley pay for what he’d done to her without drawing the ire of his pet Winchesters, but Bela was a bright girl. She was sure she could come up with something eventually.

**Author's Note:**

> [This month's theme for Coldest Hits](https://spncoldesthits.tumblr.com/post/187474693488/october-2019-prompt-monster-mash-posting-dates) was my choice, so I decided the stories needed to shine a spotlight on the monster of our choosing. I, of course, chose demons.
> 
> I'm not playing to win this month, so please give me all your comments and kudos. I'd love to hear your thoughts.


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